


Would You Still Love Me The Same?

by Potato67



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Andy | Andromache of Scythia Regains Immortality, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Angsty Booker | Sebastien le Livre, Booker | Sebastien le Livre Gets Therapy, Booker | Sebastien le Livre Needs Therapy, Booker | Sebastien le Livre Whump, Booker | Sebastien le Livre-centric, Depressed Booker | Sebastien le Livre, Depression, Exiled Booker | Sebastien le Livre, F/F, Gen, Hallucinations, Hurt/Comfort, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Mentioned Canonical Character Death, Multi, Mute Booker | Sebastien le Livre, Muteness, No character bashing, Past Attempted Suicide, Polyamory, Post-Canon, Post-Canon Fix-It, Protective Team, Sad French Racoon Man, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts, Tags May Change, Temporary Muteness, Time Skips, Touch-Starved, Touch-Starved Booker | Sebastien le Livre, because I said so, eventual polyamory, psychotic depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-14 14:28:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 16,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28796880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Potato67/pseuds/Potato67
Summary: Thirty years.It took thirty years for their anger and hurt to cool down enough to realize that they missed him more than they were angry.
Relationships: Andy | Andromache of Scythia & Booker | Sebastien le Livre, Andy | Andromache of Scythia/Quynh | Noriko, Booker | Sebastien le Livre & Everyone, Booker | Sebastien le Livre & Nile Freeman, Booker | Sebastien le Livre & Quynh | Noriko, Booker | Sebastien le Livre/Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, Booker | Sebastien le Livre/Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolo di Genova, Booker | Sebastien le Livre/Nicky | Nicolo di Genova, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 140
Kudos: 196





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first work within this fandom and it's purely based on the Netflix adaption as I have not read the comics.  
> Please read the tags for warnings!
> 
> I do not own any of the characters, I only own the original ones and the plot of this story!  
> English is not my first, nor my second language so I apologize for any eventual mistakes.
> 
> Please enjoy!
> 
> I love comments and kudos, so don't be shy about letting me know what you think about this!😁
> 
> (The title is from Rock City and Adam Levine's song "Locked Away")

Thirty years.

  
  


It took thirty years for their anger and hurt to cool down enough to realize that they missed him more than they were angry.

During those thirty years, they only saw him once, that was eight months into his exile when he had delivered Quynh to them. She had stayed with him for a couple of months before looking for them, and apparently, they had bonded quite a bit during that time. And even that encounter had been brief, only a few days. He only stayed long enough to make sure that Quynh settled in as well as she could in her condition, and to assure her that he would be fine with her gone. During the whole process, he never spoke more than strictly necessary, always keeping his head down and staying out of their way. Nile was the only one who had made any real effort to strike up a conversation with him, Andy being too busy with Quynh. Joe and Nicky were still too hurt and angry to even be able to be in the same room as him for more than a few minutes.

After that, he had left as quietly as he came, they didn’t even notice that he was gone until morning when Nile went to wake him up for breakfast, only to discover that he and the few belongings he had brought with him were gone. He had left sometime during the night when they were all asleep, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to survive them sending him away again.

Since then, the only times when they heard from him was when he was texting with either Nile or Quynh, both women refusing to completely abandon him to his punishment. And even these moments were few and far between, their lives too hectic to properly maintain a long-distance friendship.

Nile, of course, was the first to forgive him. After all, she had wanted to let him off with a simple apology and had thought that sentencing someone who was already struggling to a hundred years of solitude was just cruel. As much as she wanted to voice that particular opinion, the reaction of the team whenever the subject of Booker and his exile came up had been enough for her to keep quiet after the first few times she tried to bring it up. Her young, kind heart hadn’t yet given up on him, even if she had only known him for a few days before separating.

Andy was the second, although it took a few years. She had seen the grief he had carried for his lost family weighing down on him for almost all of his immortal life. She knew that he had been desperate for an escape from this cloud hovering over him, she just hadn’t known just  _ how _ desperate he truly was. She had been hurt, yes, very much so. But she had been even more disappointed in herself for not realizing just how miserable her friend had been. And besides, her newfound mortality had made her realize that life is too short for grudges, and it had stuck with her even as her immortality had been restored.

When twenty years had passed, Nicky admitted that he missed his lover (ex-lover?), and wanted him home. He would have forgiven him sooner, he knew, if only Booker’s actions hadn’t put his Yusuf in danger. That alone had made it harder to forgive him. But now, he could admit that sentencing someone, especially someone they love, to a hundred years of solitude was a cruel thing to do. Especially to someone like Booker, who feared loneliness more than death itself. 

Joe was the last one, it took him thirty years. During these thirty years, he refused to even speak Booker’s name and would only sneer or scoff whenever the subject was brought up. He never gave any indication that he’d forgiven him, so the others didn’t bring up their shared desire to bring him home. It wasn’t until they one day, thirty years after last seeing or hearing from him, when they were all eating dinner together that he brought it up. They were all quietly enjoying the pasta Nicky had prepared for them when Joe sighed loudly and ran a hand over his face.

“I really fucking miss him.”

They were on a plane to Paris the next day.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is chapter two!
> 
> Thank you all for the sweet comments in the last chapter! I really hope you like this, please let me know what you think and if anything needs to be fixed. English is my third language so I hope there are not too many mistakes. Enjoy!
> 
> (The next chapter should be up sometime this week)

Once they landed in Paris, they immediately hired a car and made their way to the apartment they knew Booker had last been staying at, though it was a different one than the one Quynh had found him in. It was a shady area, and, frankly, they couldn’t wait to get him and go back home, that being their current safe house in Rome that they had been staying in the last few years. Frankly, they were taking it a bit easier with the missions. Helping Quynh heal and adapt to the modern world, as well as training Nile had taken decades. Honestly, they were enjoying this calmer lifestyle, including Andy now that she had her love back. 

All that was missing from their idyllic life was Booker.

It took an hour for them to reach his apartment building, and they were excited to bring their wayward brother home again. Andy was the one to knock on the door, the others standing behind her. When no one opened the door, she frowned and started pounding harder.

“Booker, open up! It’s us!” she yelled.

“Maybe he’s out?” Nile asked.

“Out where?” Joe spoke up, “It’s almost midnight.”

Andy huffed and reached for her pocket where her lock picking tools were. Before she could pull them out, a voice spoke up.

“Excusez-Moi? (Excuse me?)” an older woman in a morning robe and a long nightgown asked from the door at the other end of the hallway “Puis-je vous aider? (Can I help you?)”

“Oui, s'il vous plaît. (Yes, please)” Nicky replided politely with a charming smile “Nous recherchons notre ami. (We are looking for our friend)”.

He showed her an old picture of Booker from his wallet. It was a bit worn from the years it had been in his wallet, right next to a photo of Joe. 

Nicky fondly remembered when he had taken it. It was two years before the whole Merrick incident. They were all gathered in Joe’s and his house in Venice, eating and drinking late one evening. They were all laughing, trading stories from the years they had been apart. It was a happy day. Joe had been telling them about a bar fight he had found himself in and how this huge man had literally picked him up and thrown him across the bar and how he had been so shocked that he didn’t even notice that a drunk Nicky had been running to his defense until he accidentally tripped over Joe and promptly passed out when his head made contact with a nearby table.

Booker had been laughing so hard that tears were coming out of his eyes, and Nicky seized the moment and snapped a picture with his phone. It was rare to get these kinds of laughs from Booker, so he felt that it was only right to capture the moment.

Nicky shook his head slightly, returning from his memory. The woman was frowning at the picture and removed her glasses from the top of her head and placed them on her nose. She studied the photo for a moment longer before her eyes lit up in recognition, a smile spread over her face.

“Oui! Monsieur Le Livre! (Yes! Mister Le Livre). You know him, yes?” she asked in heavily accented English before a somber expression took over her face. “Oh, that poor man. I remember when he first moved in. He was always polite to my husband and me, but very quiet. Actually, I don’t recall a single word coming from his mouth. Always carrying a flask, and not a friend in the world. He never left his apartment unless it was to go down to the store a couple of times a week. It was a bit hard to recognize him from your picture. You see, I never saw him smile. Not once I tell you! I didn’t think it was possible for a man to be so sad. And so, so alone, the poor boy.”

She was shaking her head while telling the tale, and the team frowned while looking at each other. Had it really been that bad?

“Do you know where he is now?” Quynh was the first one to ask, “How long did he live here?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know where he is, he moved out a long time ago, you see. Almost fifteen years since I last saw him. He only lived here for five.” she said apologetically, “But he was a very nice man, you don’t forget those easily.”

“Of course,” Joe replied with a tight smile, “thank you for your help.”

“You’re all welcome, I hope you find him.” she smiled kindly “And if you do, please tell him that Marie and Antoine Durand send their love!”

“Of course, madame.” Nile replied before they all made their way out of the building and back to the car.

**********

The drive to the hotel was quiet and tense. They stopped by a Thai restaurant, the closest place that was still open at this time of day, before continuing. They all settled in Joe and Nicky’s room to eat and plan their next move.

“We should call Copley.” Joe stated while picking at his food, not feeling particularly hungry.

“He’s retired.” Andy reminded him solemnly. She was sitting by the window, gazing out over the city and slowly eating her food while the others were seated on the couches. She wondered where her friend could be. If he was safe, or in some sort of danger. Mentally, she cursed herself for not keeping an eye on him herself, rather than relying on Nile and Quynh to keep tabs on him. She put her plate down, not feeling particularly hungry all of the sudden.

“But he could still try, right? He has the equipment. And, I mean, it would go a lot faster than trying to find him on our own?” Nile added with a forkful of chicken halfway to her mouth.

“She’s right, we should call him in the morning. At the moment, he’s our best chance at finding Booker.” Nicky said from where he was sitting in between Joe and Nile. 

Quynh, who was in the chair next to the couch, had been silent during the whole ordeal. Andy could tell from her face that she was planing their next three steps, she smiled softly at her wife before turning back to her team.

“You’re right, we’ll call Copley in the morning. Get some rest, tomorrow is gonna be a long day.” They all quickly finished their meals before returning to their respective rooms and settling in for the night, although they knew that sleep would not come easy to them.

**********

Wrapped in each other’s arms, Joe and Nicky laid silently in the comfortable hotel bed, trying to ignore the empty spot in between them that had been weighing on them for the last thirty years.

“What if something has happened to him, something really bad?” Joe whispered into Nicky’s neck. Nicky gripped the arms around him tighter and tried to ignore the ever-growing worry that was making his stomach ache. “We should have never left him. We know he doesn’t do well alone, and anyone could have done anything to him and we would have had no idea…”

“I want to believe that he is alright…” Nicky slowly began, wanting to comfort his husband, but unwilling to lie to him. “But my instinct is telling me that he isn’t. And while I believe that time apart from him was necessary, I also believe that we shouldn’t have made our decision while being as angry as we were. And in our anger, we did something unintentionally cruel. We know how much Booker suffers when alone, so I believe that the punishment would have ended up doing more harm than good in the end. We’ll all have to work hard to heal, on both sides.”

“We never meant to hurt him, we just needed time.” Joe choked out, and Nicky could feel his tears slowly staining the back of his shirt. He turned around and gathered his husband in his arms, letting him quietly cry into his neck. 

“We did, amore mio. And he knows that we did and that we didn’t exile him to hurt him. I don’t know what state he will be in once we find him, but I know that we will all be alright in the end. We have all the time in the world to heal. Together.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The french is from google translate, so sorry for any mistakes


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really short chapter, I know, but the next one will be much, much longer... and angstier.
> 
> Hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Please let me know what you think in the comments, stay safe everyone!

It took Copley a week to track Booker down. During that week, the team had become agitated and restless, worry for their friend weighing down on them like a heavy blanket. They had been looking for him themselves during this time but kept running into dead ends.

In the end, Copley had managed to track him down to a small cottage in Marseille, they had suspected that’s where he would go. Of course, Booker would return to his hometown where his family had been laid to rest so many years ago. It had still been a struggle to find his exact location, as the town was so big with so many citizens. Copley had managed to narrow it down to a small cottage that was located in the woods and had been built twelve years prior by a man under the name of Sebastian Books. It was only an hour away from the nearest town and you could drive there, otherwise, it was completely isolated.

They decided to go there by train rather than the car as it would save them hours on the road and also give them a chance to rest, something they needed after their week of endless searching. They arrived around 3 am the next day and settled in a hotel nearby to rest for what was left of the night.

**********

The next morning when they were all fed and dressed they began the drive to the cottage. The one and a half-hour-long drive was silent and tense, they didn’t know what the situation was gonna look like once they arrived. 

An hour and a half had felt like a decade once they reached their destination. They parked a bit away from the cottage and walked the remaining five minutes. 

The cottage was not as small as they expected, it had two stories and looked very cozy on the outside. It was built with dark wood and had a sizeable patio with a rocking bench made out of the same wood as the cottage, implying that Booker had built it himself as well. On the chair were a couple of recently used pillows and a blanket that was thrown carelessly on the back. There was also a book on the chair, partially hidden by one of the pillows, and Andy recognized it as the first edition Don Quijote she had gifted him before everything had gone to shit, thirty years ago. Her heart ached a bit at the sight, and carefully picked it up. She could see that it had been kept in pristine shape, barely a single scratch since she had last laid eyes on it.

When they reached the front door, it was Andy who stepped forward and gently knocked but frowned as there was no answer. She knew he was home, the lights inside were on, there was smoke coming out the chimney, and his motorbike was still parked outside. She was about to knock again when she heard a loud “thump” coming from the backyard, closely followed by another, and then another.

She looked back towards her team and saw from their expressions that they had heard it as well. She started making her way around the cottage, the others close behind her and weapons ready, just in case. 

The further they walked behind the house, the louder the noise became. It sounded like someone was chopping wood if the thumps and grunts were anything to go by. They reached finally reached the source of the sound and froze at the sight.

There he was…


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm actually pretty satisfied with this chapter, I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Please let me know what you think in the comments, and stay safe everyone!

_ There he was… _

And he looked…

Good.

Surprisingly so.

They didn’t know what they had expected. Maybe him deep in a bottle, surrounded by plenty of empty ones, drowning in misery?

Nicky and Joe were frozen where they stood next to each other, they could only stare as he continued to chop the wood, seemingly not noticing that they were there.

He looked good, healthy even. He was clad in only a pair of dark jeans and hiking boots, no shirt, which was understandable considering the hot weather. His hair was a bit longer than the last time they saw him, long enough to curl at the end of his neck and that he needed to put it behind his ear to keep it out of his face. At that moment they yearned nothing more than to drag their fingers through the blonde strands. His face sported a stubble rather than a full-grown beard as if he only shaved a couple of days ago. 

The muscles of his arms and stomach rippled as he brought the ax in his hands up and then down at the log in front of him. A sheen of sweat was covering his skin, making him glow as the sunshine hit his bare skin.

They had never seen anything so beautiful.

“Booker?” It was Nile, she had taken an unsure step away from the group and towards him.

He froze with the ax in the air and snapped his gaze towards them. For a second, his eyes showed a hint of surprise before a neutral expression took over and he simply grunted in acknowledgment before resuming his chopping.

They all stared at him and each other in shock. They had expected tears, laughter, shock.

But not this.

This nothing.

Andy was the first to recover, slowly making her way to the man as if she was approaching a frightened animal rather than the man she had come to love as a little brother.

“Book?” she asked reluctantly, but the man did not indicate that he had heard her. She reached her hand forward to touch his shoulder, but just before she could make contact he bent down to pick up the logs and made his way towards his cottage. He walked past the rest of the group, not even looking at them, and stepped inside, leaving the door open.

He was so close, only a couple of inches away from Nicky, and he could smell the familiar scent that was so Booker when he had walked past. He allowed himself to be dragged away when Joe grabbed his hand and made his way towards the door Booker had disappeared behind. When they entered the cottage, they expected to see a mess but were instead greeted by what looked like a little living room connected to a kitchen. It was neat and clean, but still cozy. The delicious smell of cooked fish came from the open fireplace that Booker, now with a shirt on, was kneeling by, the logs he had been carrying now in a metal basket next to the fireplace. 

Joe’s eyes were immediately drawn to the frames on the still above the fireplace. Four frames, neatly placed next to each other, each one containing a portrait of a different person. Of course, Joe knew who those people were, he had never officially met them, but he had drawn these portraits himself. 

The first one was that of a beautiful woman, with long, dark, curly hair framing her face. Her plump lips were stretched out into a big smile, showing off straight teeth, and a dimple on each side of her mouth. Big, kind eyes, with the beginning of crow’s feet around them, looked out towards whoever was watching the picture. Her name had been  Geneviève, and she had been married to Booker since she was eighteen, and had loved him until the day she died, no matter the words she had uttered in bitterness towards the end. She had been a devoted and loving mother, protecting her sons like a lioness would protect her cubs. She had been a very clever woman, smart as a whip and she never failed to make Booker smile, no matter how sad he was.

Next to her portrait was one of a young man, a boy really. He was in his mid-teens and a head full of curly dark hair, just like the woman in the portrait before him. His face bore a shy smile, showing off one of his dimples, and his eyes, which looked just like Bookers, were looking up through thick lashes. A small mole was visible under his right eye, almost unnoticeable unless you looked closely. This was André, Booker’s firstborn. He had been a kind boy, although a bit shy, and a real mamas boy. When he was little, he would hide behind her skirts whenever they met someone, and always held her hand whenever they were out. When he grew older, he had always made sure to chaperone her whenever she had to run errands if his father couldn’t, and when Booker had gone off to war he made sure to help his mother care for his younger brothers and house chores. He was also a proper gentleman, always behaving respectfully towards other people, especially when a lady was present, making his parents very proud of him. While he looked more like his mother, he had his father’s humor and heart, and valued family above everything.

The next portrait was that of a thirteen-year-old boy, with a big smile and short hair, straighter and lighter than the previous two, falling over his forehead. If André had looked just like his mother, then this boy could have been a younger version of Booker, only with freckles dusting his nose and cheekbones, and none of the grief his father carried. His eyes were wide and full of joy, and you couldn’t help but smile when you looked at his portrait. This was Philippe, the secondborn son of Booker and Geneviève. He had always been an energetic child, always running around and playing with whoever was willing to play with him. Unlike his older brother, he was a very social boy and could make friends with almost anyone. He would play in the garden whenever he could, always climbing a tree or rolling down the little grass hill, trying to reach the bottom faster and faster each time. Not once did he come in for supper with clean clothes, much to his mother’s dismay and his father’s amusement. He was a sweet boy, who loved his family and life and lived every day as if it was his last.

The last portrait was of a little boy, no more than eight years old, the last of his baby fat still clinging to his cheeks. Unlike the other two boys, this one was a perfect mixture between Booker and Geneviève. He had his mother’s dark curls and lips, with his father’s eyes and nose. His lips were drawn into the same big smile as his mother’s portrait showed, dimples and all, while his eyes shone with playfulness. Like his older brothers, he too had some sort of marking on his face, a little mole above his lip on the right side. This was Jean-Pierre, the youngest son of Sébastien and Geneviève le Livre, and the apple of his father’s eye. When Jean-Pierre was born, he had come almost a month too early, and he had been so, so tiny. Everyone feared that he would not survive the first day, much less the first week, but his parents had been determined to not lose their baby. His mother had spent hours upon hours trying to breastfeed him and keep him warm with her body, constantly clutching him to her chest and humming lullabies to soothe him. At night, Booker would lay awake, staring at the baby that laid in between him and his wife in their bed, terrified that he would stop breathing if he looked away for even a second. In the end, he had survived, growing stronger with each day that passed, although his parents could never really let go of the fear of losing him. The memories of those fragile first months always lurking in the back of their heads. Growing up, he had been a happy boy, always accompanying his father whenever he could and following his brothers into whatever adventure or mischief they had come up with that day. Watching the tight, loving bond between Booker and Jean-Pierre turn into one of resentment on Jean-Pierre’s side when the cancer struck had been a heartbreaking thing to witness.

During the time in which Booker had been with his family after his first death, the team had checked in on the man several times during the years, from a distance of course. They had watched him take his family to the market, laughing and carrying one of the boys on his shoulders, one hand holding one of their little legs and the other arm wrapped around his wife. As the boys had grown older, Joe decided to make portraits of them, knowing that, with time, Booker would forget their faces. It was part of the immortal life, time takes everything, even your memories. So when the cancer had finally claimed Jean-Pierre’s life and Booker had joined them, full of grief and pain, Joe had given him the drawings, with each person’s name written on the bottom right corner of their portrait, hoping to provide some comfort for his new friend. It had worked, to some extent. During the years they traveled together, he sometimes woke up to the sound of Booker trying to stifle his sobs while gently stroking one of the portraits with trembling fingers, and mumbling in Provençal. The pictures had been Booker’s most prized possessions since he got them, they were now a bit worn with age, but the faces were still as clear as ever, he had cared for them well. Now, they were framed with glass and metal to protect them, on display for anyone to see, and something in Joe’s heart both warmed and broke at the same time.

He was pulled from his thoughts when Booker stood up with a pot in his hands and made his way to the small kitchen where he put it on the stove before pulling out a plate from one of the cabinets and serving up some of the fish. He still showed no sign of noticing the others when he grabbed a fork and sat down on one of the worn couches that were all covered by, frankly, a ridiculous amount of pillows. They all watched as he settled down amongst the pillows, almost like he was trying to bury himself in between them before he slowly began to eat. 

“Booker.” This time it was Quynh who approached him. “Booker, this is not funny.”

Still, he pretended not to hear her. An annoyed expression took over her face, and she marched forward and grabbed his forearm before he could put the fork into the bowl.

“Why are you pret-” she never got to finish her sentence. The second she touched him, he jumped so hard that he fell onto the floor, the bowl shattering on the wooden floor, and food spilling everywhere. All they could do was stare in shock as he quickly backed away until his back hit the wall. Terror and shock marred his face, and his hand clutched the spot Quynh had touched until his knuckles turned white.

This time, when he raised his head, he looked right at them.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here comes the angst train! CHOO CHOO!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please read the tags for warnings as this chapter contains descriptions of mental health issues (such as hallucinations) and mentions of death and injuries.

Booker was going on about his day as usual. Taking care of the cottage, chopping wood for the fire, and whatever furniture he felt like building at the moment. 

He wasn’t sure about how long he had lived there. It could have been a year, decade, millennia, he had no idea. He had intentionally first come to Marseille from Paris to get a break from the big city, but also because he missed his family. Which one, he was still unsure of. He had moved into a small apartment, much like the one he had in Paris, and lived there for about a year, before it all became too much.

He couldn’t stand it anymore. Feeling like a ghost wandering the streets, seeing people going on about their day, families laughing, friends walking around, couples holding each other close.

All for him to see, but never touch… 

He couldn’t remember the last time he had spoken, he wasn’t sure he would remember how to anyway. Maybe it was to thank the young waitress in the little restaurant back in Paris? Or a quick “de rien” (you’re welcome) to the mother who thanked him after he handed her the pacifier her baby had dropped when they passed him on the street?

He could, however, remember the last time he had been touched...

A real touch, that is. Not just some quick brush against the hand when he received a receipt, or accidentally brushing his shoulder against someone when he passed them on a narrow street.

No, it had been on the beach in the Thames. When Andy had delivered the verdict and had held him so tight for possibly the last time ever. He remembered it so clearly, the warmth of her body, the hand gripping the back of his neck as if she was trying to comfort him. God, he missed her. He missed them all. Even during the two months that Quynh had stayed with him, they never really touched. Only when they passed something on to the other or when they brushed past each other in the narrow hallway. She never initiated touch, still too damaged from her time in the iron maiden. She had gone without touch for so long, she almost feared it. So he never pushed, no matter how much he craved it, he allowed her to set the pace. Even when she suffered through nightmares, screaming and trashing and trying to just  _ breathe _ , he never touched her. Instead, he would turn up the heat, put a light blanket over her, and soothe her with his words until she woke up. Then he would hum old lullabies his mother had sung to him, and that his wife had later sung to their sons, while she clutched the blanket and cried her heart out. Sometimes, when it was really bad, she’d hold onto the hem of his shirt, holding it for hours as she tried to ground herself, but never making any skin contact. He was okay with that, he would give her whatever she needed.

He knew that creating relationships with mortals was more painful than it was worth, he had learned his lesson after he had rejoined his wife and children after the team had rescued him in Russia. However, he couldn’t bring himself to regret those years, watching his boys grow up and become men, even if they’d hated him in the end. But he knew that he would never be able to go through that again, so he stayed away from the mortals. Instead, he wandered around the streets like a ghost, sometimes he even wondered if he was real. 

In the end, witnessing love and affection around him every day, knowing he would probably never have that again, he left. He built himself a cottage in the woods, close enough to civilization that he could go to town whenever necessary, and also provide indoor plumbing and electricity for his cottage. But also far enough so that he was pretty much isolated, never having to see another human being (and good God, how long has it been since he last saw one?), and thus the contact he yearned for so much unless he actively sought them out. He never went into town unless it was absolutely necessary, which wasn’t often considering he had pretty much everything he needed right there. He grew many different vegetables and spices in his back yard and he ate whatever berries or small animal he could catch in the surrounding woods. He would fish in the lake a few minutes walk away from his cottage, and he had access to clean water. It might sound boring, living off of the same food day in and day out, but when everything tasted like ash in your mouth, it didn’t really matter in the end.

It worked, for a while, he even stopped drinking, as it would require him going into town to buy the alcohol, and his dreams about Quynh were no longer tormenting him. But like everything good in his life, it had to come to an end.

It started with the voices. At random times he would hear voices whispering in the back of his head. Telling him cruel things, like how he deserved this loneliness, that it was all his fault. He knew they were hallucinations, he had had them many times before, usually because of prolonged dehydration or heat exposure, and the words they were spewing were nothing he hadn’t heard before, or didn’t know in his heart to be true.

It wasn’t until the voices grew louder, and he started to recognize them as the ones of his immortal family, that he couldn’t ignore them anymore.

Some days, it was Joe, yelling insults about his cowardice and selfishness, or Andy, screaming  _ “Why? Why!? WHY!?” _ . Sometimes it was Nicky, calling him a traitor in cold fury, or Quynh’s muffled screams as she drowned over and over again. On the days the voices were the loudest, he would fill the bathtub and hold himself under the water until it got quiet. He could lay there for hours, until the water had gotten cold and his skin turned pruney, and he had drowned more times than he cared to count. 

On the calmer days, sometimes, he could even hear the laughter of his sons, or the humming of his wife, sounding so, so far away.

It was agonizing, but he knew he deserved it, it was his penance after all.

Then the visions started to appear.

Surprisingly enough, it was Quynh who appeared first. It had been a quiet day, the voices whispering in the back of his head, rather than screaming in his ear. For one split second, when he had turned around to grab something, she had stood there, staring at him. But in the blink of an eye, she was gone. He didn’t sleep that night.

After that, the others started to appear as well, and they stayed longer each time.

Sometimes it was extreme, like how Joe would stand there, shirtless and healing wounds covering his skin, and scream at him, calling him different names and taunting him. Or Nicky, staring at him with cold eyes shining with hatred, sneering and asking if he truly thought they had loved him. As if he was anything more to them than a plaything to be discarded once they grew bored with him. Other times, it could be Andy, with a wound that refused to heal, looking at him with such disappointment and betrayal in her eyes, all while not saying a word. Or Quynh, soaked to the bone and dripping everywhere, silently screaming as water gushed out of her mouth. He didn’t know which one was the worst.

Sometimes, he hallucinated Nile as well, but those moments were fewer, and somehow, more pleasant than the others. She would just stand there, staring at him with pity in her eyes, not saying a word.

Most of the time, they would appear by themselves or in pairs. Once or twice, it had been all of them, which is why he was a bit shocked when he was chopping wood and they all appeared before him together.

He simply grunted in acknowledgment, the only sound he seemed capable of these days, before resuming his chopping. It looked like it would be a peaceful day, with no blood on their bodies, no hatred in their eyes, and his name coming out so softly from their mouths.

He didn’t know how long he had lived in the cottage, surrounded by nothing but woods and his memories, and hallucinations to keep him company. But one thing he knew, the hallucinations never touched him.

At least until whatever version of Quynh his mind had cooked up that day grabbed his arm. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can have another update today, as a treat.
> 
> (Don't forget to read the tags for warnings)

Quynh pulled back her hand as if it had been burned, horror shining in her wide eyes. She didn’t notice that she had backed away until Andy had her arms wrapped around her, never tearing her eyes away from the trembling man pressed against the wall. 

‘Had she hurt him? But she barely touched him!’ While the thoughts rushed through her head and she stood frozen in Andy’s arms, Nile had been the first to recover and slowly approached Booker.

She made sure to keep her hands visible and steps slow, he kept watching her with wide eyes as she kneeled in front of him, keeping a bit of a distance as not to freak him out more than they already had.

“Hey, Book.” She started slowly, backing away a bit when he pressed himself further into the wall, trying to avoid contact. “It’s me, Nile. I’m not gonna touch you, alright? I’m just gonna sit here, no one is going to hurt you, I promise.”

Booker looked up and into her eyes, the terror on his face slowly turned into sorrow and confusion.

“Nile…” He mouthed, but no sound came out. She noticed how the hand clutching his arm started pinching it instead, almost as if he was trying to wake himself up. He started to shake his head furiously while rubbing his eyes, his lips forming soundless words. Then he snapped his eyes open and they filled with shock when he saw that they were all still there.

“Yeah, man. It’s me.” She said with a shaky smile and tried to force back the tears that were threatening to escape her eyes. “We’re here. We really missed you and felt like it was time for you to come home.”

Her heart broke at his expression, tears gathered in those beautiful, blue eyes and he kept shaking his head like he still couldn’t believe she was sitting there, in front of him.

“Do you think you can stand up?” She asked gently. He nodded, not tearing his eyes away from her as he stood on shaky legs. She held her arms out, not touching him but ready to catch him if he stumbled. “Good, how about you take a seat on the couch and calm down for a bit while we clean up?”

He only nodded, a hazy look taking over his face as he sat down and clutched one of the many pillows to his chest. The others quickly went to work, cleaning up as fast as they could without startling him. When they were done, they spread out on the couches, Joe and Nicky on the one he was on. They kept a distance as not to scare him, no matter how much they wanted to pull him into their arms and never let go. 

“Basti…” Joe, who sat in between Nicky and Booker, spoke softly. He unsuccessfully tried to ignore the ache in his chest as Booker’s face crumpled at the nickname only he and Nicky were allowed to call him. “Are you alright? Quynh didn’t hurt you did she?”

Booker was still holding his arm, though not as tightly, instead he absentmindedly rubbed the spot she had touched. He only shook his head no at the latter question. Joe noticed that the blond was squirming slightly in his seat, no doubt out of discomfort from the drying food that stained his pants and shirt.

“How about you take a shower? And we’ll talk once you’re more comfortable?” Nicky, who had noticed as well, suggested. Booker, however, looked up in horror. He was shaking his head so fast that he was getting dizzy. ‘What if they’re gone when I get back? What if this isn’t real!?’ These thoughts plagued his mind as he struggled to form the words with his mouth, but no matter how much he wanted to, no sound came out.

Andy, who had been quiet so far, stood up and slowly approached her distressed friend.

“How about I come with you? I can help you get ready while Nicky cooks something for us all, you never did get to finish your meal?”

Booker took one look around the room before nodding reluctantly. He got up, careful not to touch anyone, before leading them both up the stairs where his bedroom was. He led her into the room furthest down the hall and opened the closet where he pulled out a pair of sweatpants, a t-shirt, socks, and a pair of briefs. He slowly walked into the bathroom of the room, making sure he could see her at all times, before slowly stripping and stepping into the shower. He slowly washed his body and hair, never taking his eyes off of her, like if he looked away for even a second, she’d disappear. They had seen each other naked many times during the years, so neither was bothered by the nudity. What did bother her, however, was the silence. He had not spoken one word during the whole ordeal. She knew he wasn’t doing it to be rude, living as long as she had, she’d seen this before, people who went mute after a traumatic experience. Sometimes they regained their voice, and sometimes they didn’t. She just hoped that, with their help, he’d belong to the former group.

During the shower, she kept talking, wanting to assure him that everything was alright. She talked about their latest home in Rome, how they had gone to Paris to look for him only to have a retired Copley track him down when they couldn’t find him. She talked about Nile’s training, Quynh’s recovery, her immortality restoring (that bit startled him), anything to keep his focus on her.

Once he finished, he stepped out and quickly got dressed, before they made their way down the stairs, where a lovely scent was coming from the kitchen. Nicky had managed to cook up some form of stew with the vegetables and fresh fish he had found in the fridge. Joe was setting the table where Nile and Quynh were already seated. They all looked up when Booker and Andy came down the stairs, they weren’t touching, but they were close enough that Booker could feel the heat from her body and smell her shampoo, it was a different one since the last time he had seen her.

“Food should be ready in about fifteen minutes.” Nicky said softly with a small smile. He watched as Booker cautiously sat down at the table, as far away from the others as he could without appearing rude. They all followed suit, sitting down while a tense silence settled over them.

“So Book, how long have you lived here?” Nile asked, they all knew how long he’d been there but she was smart enough to give him a soft start. He only looked at them with an unreadable expression and shrugged his shoulders. Frankly, he had no idea, for all he knew his one hundred years could be up. “It’s 2050, you know…”

That got a reaction. He looked at them with shock and question in his eyes.

“I know, I know.” Andy started. “We said a hundred years, but we have all forgiven you and we miss you. We understood that deciding on a punishment while as angry and hurt as we were, was not the greatest idea. And by doing so, we hurt you. We know that you don’t do well on your own, and still, we sentenced you to a hundred years of solitude. Yes, we needed time away to heal and calm down, but I admit that we should have waited a bit and discussed it more before we sent you away. And for that, we’re sorry.”

He just shook his head lightly at her words, mouthing what they recognized as ‘not your fault, mine’ over and over.

“The blame doesn’t lie with just one person, libretto.” Joe spoke up. “We’re all to blame in this. We never realized how much pain you had been carrying on your shoulders, and we never bothered to ask, either. We assumed the pain of your loss would lessen with time, as ours had, but we were wrong. None of us were blessed with children in our mortal lives and we will never know the pain of losing one, much less three. We should have been more considerate of your grief and helped you through it. But, you should have also talked to us. You could have told us how heavy this grief weighed on you, or talked to us about Merrick. We know you never meant to hurt us, but it still happened, and it has shown us that we need to work on our communication, together.”

Silent tears were now streaming down Bookers face as his arms wrapped around his midsection as if he was physically trying to keep himself together. A stream of silent “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” escaping his trembling lips.

“Basti, hey. Look at me.” Booker looked up into Nicky’s intense green eyes, the picture blurred by his tears. “It’s going to be alright, we’re here now. The past is in the past, all we can do now is to move forward, together as a family.”

Booker could only nod as he shakily wiped his face with the tissue Nile had placed in front of him. He had to take a couple of minutes to calm down and stop crying, noting how they were all patiently waiting for him to collect himself.

“Hey Book?” Came Nile’s uncertain voice. He looked at her to let her know he was listening. “When was the last time you spoke to anyone? Or, like, at all?”

He looked like was pondering the question before his shoulders slumped and he just shrugged, as to say ‘I don’t know’. They all grimaced at that, and Nile looked a bit reluctant before she asked her second question.

“And when… When was the last time you touched someone? Like, a real touch, like a hug?”

They dreaded the answer to this question, but they had to know. Booker looked pointedly at Andy, a light blush covering his cheeks. She was confused for a second before it clicked, and oh no… How her heart broke for her little brother.

“I hugged you, that day in the Thames… When we said goodbye. That was the last time someone touched you? Hugged you? Booker, that was over thirty years ago!” His blush intensified and his eyes filled with shame. His shoulders trembled as he dropped his head so that he wouldn’t have to see the pity in their eyes, instead he played with the tissue in his hands. It wasn’t until he heard a choked off sob that he looked up. The source of the sound was Quynh. 

Quynh, who had felt his pain for over two hundred years, who he had kept company during her torment, making her time in the iron maiden just the tiniest bit bearable. Quynh, who had once flinched away from touch like he just had, who was probably the strongest person he knew, was crying, for him.

“Oh, sweet little brother. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry we left you alone with this. Never again, you will never have to feel alone again. I forbid it! We are here now, and we will not leave until you are whole and by our side again, do you hear me!?”

All he could do was nod as Andy attempted to comfort her wife.

“We are here now, amore mio.” Nicky spoke, tears of his own fighting to make their way down his cheeks. “We are here, and we will heal. No matter how long it may take, we will never leave you again. But for now, we eat.”

Everyone chuckled at the last bit before digging in. Booker could only smile as he brought the spoon up to his lips.

For the first time in a long, long time, there was no taste of ashes in his mouth.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please read the tags for warnings!
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter, please let me know what you think in the comments!😊

Booker woke up the next morning with a heavy heart. The cottage was quiet, the only sound being a bird chirping outside his window. 

Of course… It had all been a dream. He’d had dreams like that during his exile. Of his family coming to get him, telling him that he’s forgiven and bringing him home. He couldn’t find the energy to get out of bed, today would be a bad day he knew, the whispers already starting up in the back of his head. He’d probably lay there all day, wallowing in his misery and trying to block out the voices and images, it wouldn’t be the first time after all.

That was until the smell of food cooking reached his nose. He had hallucinated scents before, but it was usually things like blood, gun powder, or smoke, but never food. He shot up, quickly pulling on a pair of sweatpants, socks, and a slightly too big hoodie over his head. He entered the hallway leading to the stairs and promptly froze at the first step. Quiet voices came from the kitchen and he could hear the occasional banging against a pot. He started biting his lower lip, a nervous habit he’d had since his mortal days, debating on whether he should go downstairs or not. ‘Could yesterday have been real? Or was this just another punishment his brain had cooked up for him?’

He took a deep breath before slowly and quietly making his way down the stairs on shaky legs, his fingernails digging into the palm of his fisted hands, and he let the stinging ground him. Once he reached the bottom of the stairs the quiet muttering stopped, and five pairs of eyes turned towards him as he reached the last step. He looked out at the kitchen where the team was gathered, the girls and Joe seated at the table while Nicky was placing a stack of pancakes on a plate on it. 

“Hey, libretto.” Nicky smiled comfortingly. “Come join us for breakfast, I just finished making the last of it.”

Booker, who was clutching the railing so hard that his knuckles turned white, took in the scene with an indescribable feeling in his gut. He was still trying to figure out whether or not any of this was real. They all looked like they had done the day before, only now in their pajamas and hair ruffled from sleep. There was no blood, no cuts or bruises or body parts missing. They looked… Normal? One thing that always assured him that his hallucinations were figments of his imagination was that whenever he saw them they were always wounded in one way or another. But never this, this domesticity, this feeling of… safety.

Slowly, he made his way to the table and sat down, trying to ignore the stares his family sent him.

_ ‘Are they still your family? You betrayed them. You hurt them. You don’t deserve them.’  _ A cruel voice sneered, it sounded like someone was whispering it directly into his right ear, but when he subtly glanced in the direction it had come from there was nothing there. He lightly shook his head to clear his mind and turned towards the others. They were all chatting lightly as they filled their plates with the delicious food Nicky had prepared for them, trying (and failing) to subtly glance towards him whenever they thought he wasn’t looking. Nicky filled a plate with pancakes covered with strawberry jam, whipped cream, and berries (Bookers favorite) and placed it in front of him, trying not to feel hurt when Booker leaned away to avoid touching him. They all began to eat while chatting lightly, talking about Nile’s training and which weapon she should learn to master next. Booker wasn’t listening, he could only watch as his family ( _ ‘notyoursnotyoursnotyours’ _ ) enjoyed their food while he picked lightly at his own, nibbling on a piece here and there. He knew he was hungry, but the emotional whirlwind inside him turned every bite into a challenge. He almost dropped his fork when Nile burst out laughing at something Andy had said, he watched as she grabbed the other woman’s shoulder as her chuckles died down. His own arm, specifically the spot Quynh had touched, started to tingle and he didn’t notice that his other hand had started to gently rub the spot. 

Joe looked on as Booker’s eyes grew distant, his gaze stuck on a random spot on the wall as his hand lightly stoked a part of his forearm. He frowned as he waited for him to snap out of it, but when five minutes passed with no change, the others now also looking worriedly at their friend, he cleared his throat. Booker showed no sign of having heard him, he only continued to look out at nothing and rubbing his arm.

“Basti?” Joe tried. When it didn’t work he tried again, but louder. He tried several times, but it wasn’t until Nile loudly smacked her hands together that Booker blinked quickly a few times, seemingly returning to the present. His expression changed into one of uncertainty, like he was debating something before he looked up at them all, the uncertainty changing into insecurity. He opened his mouth to say something before closing it again and repeating the process a couple of times.

“It’s alright, take your time, little brother.” Quynh assured gently. He looked frustrated as his lips formed different, unreadable, words before a broken expression took over his face, and a single word was whispered.

“Real?” His voice was raspy and scratchy from years of not being used, but there was no mistaking the raw desperation in it. Joe’s expression crumpled as he, oh so slowly, touched the tip of his middle finger to Bookers own. 

“Yes, Basti.” He breathed out. “This is real.”

They didn’t know how long they sat at the table, but even as his hand started to lightly tremble, Booker didn’t pull away. Not even as the voice sneered in his ear.

  
  
  


_ ‘Enjoy it while it lasts…’ _


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another update because I have no life! I hope you like it, and please let me know what you think in the comments. Stay safe everyone!
> 
> Please read the tags for warnings!

They had been there for two weeks, and practically nothing had changed.

In fact, it seemed like everything was getting worse.

Every morning, he looked just as surprised when he walked down the stairs and they were still there. They tried their hardest to assure him that they were there and that they weren’t going anywhere, but the voices in his head were persistent in their torment, always playing at his insecurities and fears. Telling him that they were only there out of pity, that there was no way they could love him after what he did, but that they were too nice to abandon him. Telling him that they would leave once they saw just how broken he truly was.

Booker still wasn’t talking, the only sounds he seemed capable of were grunts and hums. They had learned to interpret what most of the sounds meant, but they were frustrated that he wasn’t able to talk to them. They knew it wasn’t his fault, he hadn’t spoken for so long that he probably didn’t know how to anymore, the struggle he’d had to utter a single word the second day was the proof of that. 

He still avoided touch. He would lean back if they got too close and sit as far away from them as possible when they ate. But still, he’d watch with longing in his eyes whenever they touched each other. Like when Andy and Quynh were cuddled together on the couch, or whenever they patted Nile on the back or shoulder whenever she did something good at training. The worst was probably when Nicky and Joe touched, like when they wrapped their arms around each other or kissed good morning/good night. Oh, how he longed to be wrapped in their arms, to lay between them in their bed again, to feel their lips on his skin. He missed their love.

Every time he thought he could summon the courage to ask for touch, even something as small as just touching the tip of their fingers like he’d done with Joe the second day, the voices started screaming at him. The visions had all but disappeared now, only appearing in his nightmares or when he was in some sort of funk. But the voices stayed, and they were worse than ever. Every time he’d think he was able to reach forward and  _ just touch _ , they would attack. Screaming that he didn’t deserve their touches, that he would only sully them if they got too close to him. So he didn’t. Whenever the urge to reach out to them became too much, he would go to his bathroom and fill up a bath where he would stay under the water, and he’d clutch his head and scream until the voices went away. Or until he’d drown so many times that he was completely exhausted and would sleep for hours afterward, head blessedly quiet.

Some days, he would get stuck in his own head and could sit for minutes or hours, just staring out at nothing with a blank expression. It was impossible to make contact with him during these times, so the team did what they could to help. Like wrap blankets around him, make him something simple and warm for when he snapped out of it. Joe and Nicky would simply sit with him until it was over, sometimes reading to him out loud or telling him stories about their time apart. Sometimes, they would just sit there quietly, patiently waiting for him to come back.

**********

“This isn’t working!” Nile exclaimed one day. Booker hadn’t left his bed all day, only laying there and staring out at nothing while clutching a pillow to his chest. “It’s been over two weeks and nothing has changed. We need to do something soon or it will be too late.”

“We are trying to take it at his pace. We do not want to make him uncomfortable.” Nicky mumbled from where he and Joe were sitting on the couch. Quynh was currently upstairs with Booker while they, Andy, and Nile were downstairs, preparing dinner. A pot of tomato soup was simmering on the stove while fresh garlic bread was cooling on the counter. 

“Nicky is right. We do not want to scare him away by pushing too hard.” Joe grumbled as he tried to sit comfortably between the mountains of pillows on the couch. “Ya Allah! Who needs this many pillows!?”

“I’ve read that people who use or sleep with multiple pillows are people who feel lonely and depressed. I don’t know if it’s true, but I’m starting to think it is.” Nile responded with a shrug. She crossed her arms and started pacing in front of the others. “Listen, this can’t go on. We need to try something new. Right now, the biggest problem is the hallucinations, so I was thinking we could-”. She was interrupted by Andy before she could finish her sentence.

“Woah, wait!? What hallucinations!?” She exclaimed with a bewildered expression. And she wasn’t the only one, Nicky looked just as shocked as her while Joe looked almost thoughtful.

“Yeah…” She responded, sounding confused. “It’s pretty obvious. Don’t you remember the first day we were here? He saw us and then acted like we weren’t there, at least until Quynh touched him. Or haven’t you noticed how he’ll sometimes look at random spots with nothing there as if he’s seeing or heard something coming from that direction? I did some research and I think that Booker has some form of major depression with psychosis, otherwise called psychotic depression. It’s pretty common for people with depression. The psychosis includes things like hallucinations and delusions, and after what happened, him hallucinating about us isn’t that surprising. You seriously didn’t notice this? I mean, wasn’t the part where he asked if this was ‘real’ a big enough clue?”

‘Three fucking immortals and not a brain between them’ she thought while rolling her eyes.

“I figured there was something wrong with his perception of reality, I just didn’t think it was this bad…” Joe was going through the past two weeks in his head, trying to see if there was anything he’d missed. “What do you think we should do?”

“The man needs therapy. Hell, he needed it thirty years ago, if not way before that. But I think we need to solve this whole communication thing before we start discussing different options. I got him a mini whiteboard and some markers when Nicky and I went to town yesterday. I figured if he can’t speak yet, then maybe he can write instead?”

“That’s… actually not a bad idea, good thinking, kid.” Andy smiled. Just then they heard two pairs of footsteps coming down the stairs. Booker, who looked completely exhausted, was newly showered and was wearing the same sweats he’d worn the previous day, but at least he wasn’t in his pajamas anymore. He didn’t look up at them, instead, he focused his gaze on the floor as he made his way to the kitchen table and sat down while Quynh started serving up food from the stove onto two plates for them. They ate in companionable silence while pretending that they couldn’t feel the other’s gazes on them. It felt like all they do these days is stare at him. Quynh, noticing his discomfort, sent them all pointed glare, and they all headed outside for some fresh air while the two finished their meals. When they came back inside again Booker was still sitting at the table while Quynh was washing their plates, he was playing with the hem of his sweater and looked like he was in deep thought if the frown on his face was anything to go by. 

“Hey, Booker.” Nile approached the table and sat down slowly in front of him. He looked up at her but didn’t flinch, which she counted as a win. She grabbed the plastic bag containing the whiteboard and markers before she emptied the contents onto the table between them. He raised an eyebrow at the stuff and then at her, but other than that he didn’t react. She picked up the board and one of the black markers and put them down in front of him. “I got you these the other day. I figured if you can’t talk yet, then maybe you could write instead? That way we can communicate easier than just guessing, and hopefully, you’ll be able to talk to us again soon. I gotta admit, I miss your voice, man.” She finished with a chuckle.

He could only open and close his mouth like a fish while he blinked at her. Then, he looked down at the board and marker while biting his lips, before slowly picking them up as if they were something fragile. He took off the cap from the marker and looked unsure for a second before pressing it on the unmarked board and wrote down two words. Then turned the board so that she, and the others, could read what he’d written.

**Thank you**


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please read the tags for warnings!
> 
> The next chapter should be up tomorrow, but I hope you enjoy this in the meantime!
> 
> Stay safe everyone, and don't forget to leave a comment!❤️️

Things got a bit easier after that, maybe not better, but easier.

Booker would carry around the whiteboard and a marker wherever he went, writing down his answer whenever someone asked him a question. He never wrote much, maybe a word or two at a time, and he never initiated a “conversation”, but it was easier to communicate with him now. When they were all seated at the dinner table and talking, they could include him in the conversations, he even smiled once or twice.

Eventually, they had to start discussing their next step. They knew Booker wasn’t getting any better, and they didn’t know what to do to help him, they’d never dealt with anything like this before. When Quynh had returned to them they’d known what to do because she’d let them know. She’d been furious, constantly raging, and wanting to take her frustrations on them through battle. So, they’d let her kick their asses whenever she needed to, and held her when she cried once she grew comfortable with their touches, but there had never been much talking included in her healing process. It wasn’t the same with Booker, they knew. So that’s how they ended up in the living room after dinner, with Booker clutching his whiteboard in the armchair, and the rest spread out on the couches surrounding it.

“So, we’ve been talking, and this can’t go on, man…” Andy said sorrowfully. “You need help, Book. And we’re trying, but you need more than that.”

_ ‘This is it.’ _ the demon in his head taunted  _ ‘they’ve grown sick of your shit. They’re leaving you now. Just like you deserve. You deserve to be alone.’ _

He tensed up and turned his gaze towards the floor, desperately trying to keep the tears at bay. He knew this was coming, and he’d made his peace with it, at least that’s what he’d thought. Now that the time was here, it hurt, more than he thought it would. He didn’t deserve to have them here, and the past two weeks had been a beautiful gift that he’d remember and take comfort from for the duration of his exile. If they still wanted him back afterward, that is. But now, now that they’re actually leaving, he couldn’t help but feel… betrayed. And oh, the irony, the voices in his head were cackling at the situation. Here he was, as a result of his actions, having the audacity to feel  _ betrayed, _ of all things. But he couldn’t help it, they were  _ abandoning _ him,  _ again _ . 

“...so we talked to Copley about finding you a psychiatrist we can trust. Obviously, you won’t be able to tell them the whole immortality thing, but it shouldn’t be too hard to alter the truth a bit… Booker? You okay?” she hadn’t noticed his inner battle and kept talking until tears began to stream down his face. They were all worried, and a little freaked out, they didn’t know what was wrong.

“Hey, Basti, Habibi. Look at me. Can you tell me what’s wrong?” Joe was desperate to comfort the other man, to take him to his and Nicky’s bed and keep him safe and loved and never let go. But for now, all he could do was kneel in front of the crying man and try to get some form of an answer. Booker wiped the tears away with one hand, letting out a sniffle while doing so, and picked up the marker with the other. Shakily, he wrote down two words and held up the whiteboard for the others to read.

**Not leaving?**

“Oh, amore mio…” Nicky breathed out, he had left his seat on the couch and was now kneeling in front of him, next to Joe. “I told you before, we’re not leaving, ever.”

  
  


**********

Finding a reliable psychiatrist wasn’t easy. It took Copley a few weeks to find someone who seemed to fit Booker’s needs and who was also nearby and available, but he managed, and it couldn’t have come sooner.

After the little incident in the living room, Booker had started to get angry. They didn’t know why, or what triggered it, but from seemingly nowhere, he would go into some sort of rage.

It had all started one evening while they were eating dinner, the atmosphere was calm and relaxed, and they were all laughing and recalling stories from the past thirty years. It had all gone well. Andy was in the middle of telling a story about a fight she and Quynh had gotten into with a group of men who’d been harassing a girl at a restaurant during one of their dates, when the sound of glass shattering interrupted her.

They all looked towards the source of the sound and saw Booker sitting there, breathing heavily and staring out into nothing with a rageful face. His trembling hand was still clenched into a fist, and he didn’t seem to notice the glass digging into his hand or the mix of blood and water running down it.

“Little brother?” Quynh started slowly, not wanting to set the man off. “What is wrong? Did Andromache say something bad?” 

All she got in response was Booker standing up so quickly that his chair flew back and he grabbed his plate, still half full, and threw it across the room. It smashed against the wall and broke, food and glass shards flying everywhere. By now they had all jumped up and could only stare, not knowing what was going on. Booker turned around, and stormed out of the house, punching the wall on his way. Nicky and Joe scrambled after him while the women stayed behind to clean up the mess.

They found him in the backyard where he brutally punching a tree and screaming hysterically. He looked like a mess, his hair was wild, and tears were streaming down his screaming face. His knuckles were bloody and the healing wounds kept reopening with every hit against the tree. 

“Oh, Basti…” Came Nicky’s sorrowful voice. “Please stop. Please don’t hurt yourself anymore.”

The desperation in Nicky’s voice broke through his rage, and Booker could do nothing more than turn around and slide down with his back against the tree as he let out the most heartbreaking sobs. He put his head between his raised knees and shook it as he grabbed his hair. Nicky and Joe sat down on each side of him and watched helplessly as their S é bastien broke down. Nicky bit his lower lip hard as he debated with himself. Eventually, his heart won out over his head, and he slowly put his arm around Booker’s shoulders. And Booker froze, all sound stopping and his body grew tense. And then he was in Nicky’s lap, holding on for dear life and crying his heart out. Nicky could only hold the other man as close to him as physically possible, trying to shield him from the world with his own body, and cry into his hair. Joe, who had been sitting next to them, scootched over and wrapped his arms around the two halves of his heart, keeping them safe in his arms. 

Booker doesn’t know how long they sat there, crying and holding each other. But when he woke up the next morning, his whole body tingling from where he was held in between the two other men on his bed, he promptly told the demons in his head to fuck right off.

**********

Of course, all their problems didn’t magically disappear, quite the opposite in fact. Booker would still go into a rage seemingly out of nowhere, but his aversion to touch had somewhat lessened. It didn’t happen often, but once in a while, he would do something small, like press a finger or a toe against one of the team members. He would sit tensely, waiting for rejection, and be just as surprised each time the person he touched enthusiastically provided the comfort he needed. He usually went for Joe or Nicky, the most touch he initiated was one evening when he and Joe were sitting by the lake he usually fished at, and he’d shyly grabbed Joe’s left hand with his own. He had played with the older man’s fingers for nearly ten minutes before letting go and making his way back to the cabin. Everyone pretended like they didn’t see the tears in Joe’s eyes when they entered the door.

His angry outbursts would come out of nowhere and would vary. Sometimes, he would rage and throw everything he could get his hands on, and other times it would be a cool type of anger. He’d sit by the dinner table with them all, refusing to eat a single bite as he glared at them, or ignore them as they tried to talk to him, glaring or simply just walk away. It was like he was trying to get them angry at him as well, but they never did. They were frustrated, yes, but never angry. And he always seemed so remorseful afterward.

On the first day of therapy, they were all nervous. Picking at their food at breakfast and not really making any conversation. The appointment with doctor Camille Monet would be in town and they had all agreed that it would be best if Joe and Nicky were to drive him as he seemed to be most comfortable with them.

When it was time to leave Booker didn’t make eye contact with anyone, instead, he kept his head down and went to sit in the backseat of the car. 

“Take care of him.” Andy said seriously. Nicky and Joe nodded at her before they went after Booker to the car, Joe at the driver’s seat while Nicky sat in the back with Booker. The drive was quiet and tense. They could tell that Booker was nervous, they were as well, by the way he bounced his leg up and down, and how hard he was clutching the whiteboard to his chest.

Once they reached the building it took a while to get Booker out of the car. He sat frozen in place as he stared up at the intimidating building, trying to muster up all the courage in his body to just get out of the car. The voices in his head had been particularly ruthless today and he was already exhausted. All he wanted to do was to go home and sleep for the rest of the week, but he had to do this. Not for himself, but for the others. He had to show them that he could change, that he could become a person they deserved to have around, not whatever broken leftovers he consisted of. 

Eventually, he got out and made his way into the building on shaky legs, drawing comfort from Joe and Nicky who were walking on either side of him. When they got in, Joe went to the receptionist while Nicky and Booker sat down in the waiting area. Despite the warm weather, he was wearing pair of dark jeans and one of Joe’s hoodies that the older man had given him a couple of days ago. When Joe came and sat down on the other side of him he felt a little calmer, being surrounded by the two men’s comforting presences.

“Mister Books?” A young woman called out from the entry leading to a hallway. Booker was debating how far he’d get if he bolted out the front door when Joe touched his finger against his knuckles of the hand that was currently clenched around the arm of the chair.

“You’ll be fine, love. Do you want us to go in with you?” Joe asked gently. Booker shook his head, he had to do this on his own. He couldn’t keep tiring them like this, he had to show them that he doesn’t need to rely on them, that he wasn’t a liability. No matter how much he tried to convince himself that he had to do this on his own, he still wanted nothing more than for the other men to go with him.

‘ _ Just like a fucking baby.’ _ The voice taunted. ‘ _ It’s a miracle that they’ve kept you around for as long as they have, considering you’re more trouble than you’re worth. Can’t even go to a doctor’s appointment without someone holding your hand. Pathetic! _ ’

“If you’re sure.” Nicky, always sweet Nicky who was always ready to comfort whenever anyone needed it. “We’ll be right here if you need anything.”

He nodded at him before taking a deep breath and standing up, making his way to the woman before he could change his mind. She smiled gently and lead him down the short hallway.

“Doctor Monet will be in shortly, you can make yourself comfortable in the meantime. Is there anything I can get you? Some water, maybe?” She held up the door while he shook his head and managed to give her a tiny smile. “Very well, I’ll be by my desk out here if you change your mind.”

He nodded his head thanks and the door closed behind her. He sat down on one of the comfortable looking chairs and tried to get his hands to stop shaking. He could do this. He had to do this! He’d faced enemies with more courage than this! He’d seen the worst humanity has had to offer, he shouldn’t be more scared of talking to some random stranger about his feelings, than when he’d face the barrel of a gun.

Then the door opened and he took a deep, determined, breath.

It was now or never.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're almost done with this story, y'all. Only one more chapter after this😭😭😭
> 
> I'm actually very pleased with this chapter and I hope that you all agree, please let me know what you think in the comments❤️
> 
> Please read the tags for warnings!
> 
> This chapter contains a scene where a therapy session is described, please do not use this work as a reliable source for therapy or how to deal with mental health issues. If you are dealing with mental health issues, please contact a professional who is equipped to help you. Mental health is not a joke, and there is no shame in seeking help for it.
> 
> (Seriously though, don't use me as a source. The only experience I've had with therapy is from watching "Hannibal" (NOT a good example) and the three psychology classes I took in high school)

Therapy was… interesting, to say the least. The first couple of meetings weren’t the relentless interrogations he’d expected, but rather calm conversations.

Doctor Monet was a middle-aged woman, with dark skin and black hair, curlier than Joe’s. She was clad in a pair of suit pants, a blouse, and a pair of heels. Her kind smile and gentle, brown eyes, calmed Booker down the slightest.

She was a sweet woman, but still professional, and she asked him questions about how he was doing that day, what he hoped to achieve with therapy, about his speech, etc. A lot of her questions were yes/no questions, and the more difficult ones he could write down on his whiteboard. All in all, not a terrible experience, and he was a bit curious about what their future meetings would entail.

By the time their hour was up after their first meeting, he was exhausted, the stress of the day and being around so many strangers at once taking a toll on him. She led him to the door and told him that he could schedule a meeting for next week with the secretary that had taken him to the room in the beginning. Once they’d gotten home, he slept for the rest of the day and through the night, only staying awake long enough to eat the food Joe had prepared.

He was currently sitting alone by the lake, it was getting a bit colder as winter approached, and he was just basking in the sun and thinking about what had happened that day.

It all started that morning at his appointment with doctor Monet...

**********

“So, Sebastian. I heard from Joe that something happened this morning? Would you like to tell me about it?” She asked gently, her ever-present notebook on her lap and pen in hand. It had been a few weeks since he started therapy, and truth to be told, it was helping. He had told her about the hallucinations two weeks back, and she had contacted a psychiatrist and they’d worked together to provide him with the appropriate medication and treatment. He had been reluctant at first, but with the encouragement from his family and doctor Monet, he had finally accepted. It helped, the voices still appeared from time to time, but not as viciously or as intense, and the visions were all but gone.

The doctor patiently waited for him to decide what he wanted to do before he sighed and picked up his whiteboard. 

**Threw a plate at the wall**

“And why did you do that?” She didn’t ask in a patronizing way, but in a curious one. 

**Got angry**

“And why were you angry?”

**Don’t know**

“Do you get angry a lot, Sebastian?” He only shrugged in response, not looking her in the eye. “What goes through your mind, when you get angry?”

He hesitates for a moment, before writing.

**I get angry at them**

“Them being who?”

**My family**

“Why does your family make you angry?” He couldn’t stop the tears as they ran down his cheeks, and he wrote his answer down with a shaky hand.

**Because they left me**

“What do you mean with that?”

**Years ago**

**I did something bad**

**And they got hurt**

**And then they left me**

**I needed them, and they left me**

“And do they know that you feel this way?” He only shook his head as he wiped the board with a cloth. “Do you think it would help if you told them how you feel? Maybe this is something you could work through together?”

He just shrugged again.

“When did you first start getting angry at them? Do you remember what might have triggered it?” He thought back to that dinner when he’d crushed the glass with his hand and raged at a tree before breaking down in Joe and Nicky’s arms. They had just been eating as usual when Andy started retelling a story from when he’d still been in exile. They had all been laughing, recalling the encounter when he suddenly a hot rage spread through his body like a wildfire.

**They were talking about something they had done while I was away**

**And I just got so angry**

**I broke a glass**

“Why did the story upset you, Sebastian?” She had a knowing look on her face, like she already knew the answer and was just waiting for him to figure it out.

**Because**

It took him a minute to gather his thoughts and really think the question through. But when it hit him, it struck like lightning.

**Because they were together and happy**

**And I was alone**

**And they didn’t care**

**They don’t need me**

**Not like I need them**

**And because I know they would never send each other away like they sent me away**

“And how does that make you feel?”

**Worthless**

**Because I know that they are going to leave me again**

“Is this what you think every time you get angry? That they are going to leave?” He nodded at her question before cleaning the whiteboard and writing something down.

**When I get angry I try to make them angry**

**Because I want to see if this is the day they will leave**

**And so that they will leave before I get more attached to them**

**So that it won’t hurt as much when go**

Doctor Monet nodded her head and closed her notebook.

“Our time is up for today, Sebastian. I want to give you some homework if you’re up for it, okay?” He nodded with a curious expression. “I want you to tell your family what you told me today, talk to them about how you felt during those years you were apart, and how your reunion is making you feel. Do you think you can do that? Remember, nothing here is mandatory, you do what you feel comfortable doing.”

He could only nod with an uncertain expression marring his face and follow her to the door.

“I hope that you’ll give this a try, I think it can truly benefit all of you. I will see you next week, okay?” He nodded and went left the room to where Joe was waiting for him.

“Hey, how did it go?” The older man asked as he stood up when he saw Booker come out the door. He received no answer as Booker only stared ahead, looking like he was deep in thought. It was like that all the way home and until dinner where they were all gathered, as usual, by the table and eating. Booker looked agitated as he poked around on his plate with a fork, trying to ignore the others while they talked about their day.

“So, Booker. How did your appointment go?” Nile asked, but he only glared down at his plate and muttered something incomprehensible. “What was that?”

They were all surprised that he was talking and were eagerly waiting for him to clarify what he’d said.

“I said,” He rasped out and raised his glare at them. “Why do you care?” 

They didn’t know what shocked them the most, the number of words spoken or the actual words.

“What do you mean ‘why do you care?’? Of course, we care, little brother. That’s why we’re here!” Quynh exclaimed with wide eyes. He only let out a loud “HA!” and rolled his eyes.

“Are you kidding me, Book!?” Andy shouted from her seat. “Why the fuck would you ever say something like that!? After everything we-”

“BECAUSE YOU LEFT ME! YOU LEFT ME, YOU LEFT ME, YOU LEFT ME!” Andy didn’t get to finish her sentence as Booker shot up from his seat. Everyone sat frozen in place as he screamed, they could only watch helplessly as years of pain finally poured out. He kicked the counter in time with the last sentence until the wood almost broke. “I was practically crying for help, and you left! You’re always saying that the three of you know me better than I know myself, and yet you couldn’t see as I was suffocating on my misery. Instead, you took the first chance you got and abandoned me! You never even gave me the chance to explain myself, you were never meant to be taken! None of us were, they were only supposed to get our DNA in Sudan. And when it was contaminated I agreed with Copley to turn only myself over to Merrick, none of you were supposed to be taken. I just wanted it to end! I needed you, and you just left me. And you know what the worst part was during my exile!? It’s that I know that none of you would ever sentence each other to the same punishment, and don’t even try to tell me any differently.” Suddenly, all anger left him, leaving him with nothing but sorrow and exhaustion. His shoulders slumped and his face crumpled as he, in such a broken voice, whispered out the six words that would haunt them for the rest of their immortal lives. “Why? Why did you leave me?”

They were all frozen by his outburst, their words completely failing them as they watched him turn around and walk out the door without another word.

**********

And that’s how he ended up by the lake, clad in nothing but a T-shirt and jeans as he debated whether or not he would be successful in going back to his room to pack a bag and leave unnoticed, but he doubted it. He wrapped his arms around himself, both to keep warm in the early December night, but also to keep himself together. His throat was killing him, he’d spoken more in three minutes than he had in thirty years, and screaming on top of it all maybe wasn’t the smartest course of action.

He was feeling conflicted. On one hand, he was embarrassed by his outburst and furious with himself. Who was he to be angry at them, when it was him who hadn’t gone to them in the first place? This whole thing was his fault to begin with.

But on the other hand, he felt lighter than he had in months since they first came to his cottage, intending to bring him home. The feeling of abandonment had been tormenting him since they first left him on that beach, and had stuck with him for over thirty years. But he had pushed it down, burying it with shame and guilt instead. It had been easy to ignore when he was alone and he could pretend like they were hurting as much as he was. But when they’d come here, and he’d seen the happy lives they’d lived while he was drowning in guilt and self-loathing, he couldn’t keep it buried anymore. It had snuck up on him slowly, not in a way that he was surprised when it made itself known, but in a way that he’d been aware of it, but hadn’t realized just how much of it was truly there. A part of it had grown into bitterness. Ugly, ugly bitterness that he’d been horrified when he first felt it. How dare he feel bitter about his family living a good and happy life, the life he almost took away from them, as he wallowed in hurt? But, as doctor Monet would say, you can’t control what you feel, only what you do with it.

He didn’t know what was happening in the cottage. Maybe they’d finally realized that he wasn’t worth their love and were packing, intending to leave? Or were they discussing what to do with him now? Frankly, he had no idea. He was pulled out of his thoughts when two pairs of familiar footsteps approached him. He didn’t look away from the water as Joe draped a blanket over his cold shoulders, or when Nicky pressed a hot cup of tea into his hands with a quiet “for your throat”. He didn’t look away even as they sat down on each side of him, he was afraid of what he’d see on their faces if he did. Instead, he wrapped his cold fingers around the cup and looked down at the dark liquid.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered and ignored the pain in his throat. They didn’t answer, they just leaned into him, holding him close and warm, they didn’t need to say anything to get their message through. He doesn’t know how long they sat like that, them just holding him and looking out at the water, no one saying a word as he drank his tea. It could have been hours, the sun had gone down and the nightlife was making its presence known in the forest around them. Eventually, Joe broke the silence.

“What did you mean when you said that we’d never sentence someone to the punishment we gave you?”

“You know what I mean.” Booker breathed out, his throat no longer hurt thanks to the tea and their healing ability. “Could you honestly look me in the eye and tell me that the two of you would ever be able to cut all contact with the other for a hundred years, knowing that they’d be completely alone. Or do that to Andy or Quynh, or Nile?”

“We weren’t very good lovers to you during our time together before all this, were we?” It was more of a statement than a question when Nicky spoke.

“Well, I wouldn’t say that. I recall many phenomenal orgasms, as well as-” Booker was interrupted by Joe.

“Basti.” He said with no humor in his voice. “That’s not what Nicolò was talking about, and you know it. We’re talking about that during the sixty years you graced our bed, we never truly made a real effort to assure you that you had a place with us. We never made it clear that we had fallen just as deeply in love with you as we had with each other. We only assumed that you knew and that you didn’t want to be tied down with us, or weren’t ready to commit to someone so soon after your wife. But we always thought that you knew how much we loved you, just like we knew how much you loved us. And for that, we’re sorry. And we are hoping that one day, when you’re ready, that you can give us a chance to fix our mistake.”

“If you still want us, that is. Otherwise, we’d be happy to just be your brothers, if that’s what you need from us.” Nicky added. Booker didn’t have to look at them to know they were looking at him with hope and remorse. He didn’t know what to think. These were the words he’s been longing to hear since his feelings for them grew from attraction to love so many years ago. But he didn’t know what to do, he couldn’t go through that again. Them being Joe&Nicky and him, back to always feeling like an outsider looking in, hoping that one day they’d open the door. So that’s what he told them.

“I love you two.” He croaked out. “I have for years, and I probably always will. But I can’t keep being an outsider in your relationship. It can’t be the two of you, and me. I want to try, I do, but I think we need to learn more about this before we try anything serious. And I need to work on myself as well. I’m broken, but I’m slowly starting to come back together. But, I’m not the same person I was thirty years ago. So, I’m hoping that, with time, you’ll be able to get to know the new me before you try the whole “wooing” thing.”

“That is more than we could have asked for.” Nicky’s soft voice answered and Booker could hear the raw emotions in it. He looked up to see the two of them smiling at him with watery eyes, and he could only smile back. 

They didn’t know what the future had in store for them, but they had a good feeling about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Am I projecting my own abandonment issues onto Booker? It's more likely than you think!


	11. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this is it! This story is officially complete! Thank you to everyone who has stuck around and read it all, I'm so happy you did. And thank you to everyone who's shown their support with comments and kudos, you have no idea how much you have motivated me to write this, you're the best!❤️❤️
> 
> I'm very pleased with how this ended, and I hope you're too. Please read the tags for warnings, this chapter also contains light smut at the end. I really hope that you like this, and once again, thank you all!!!
> 
> Side note, I have another Joe x Nicky x Booker story that I will be posting later today, in case anyone would be interested in reading it?❤️
> 
> Stay safe, everyone!

Things got better after that. Booker kept going to therapy, and with the help of doctor Monet and his family, he was able to heal and handle his depression. Of course, he still had bad days, and the pain of losing his children would never completely fade. Some days he couldn’t leave his bed, he would just lay there and stare out at nothing, not saying a word. Those days, everyone, specifically Joe and Nicky, would take it easy. They would just be there for him and take care of him in the way they knew he needed.

Some days, he would flinch away from their touch, and they wouldn’t be hurt by it. Instead, they’d keep their distance while still being close enough that he didn’t feel alone, and they’d wait for him to initiate touch whenever he felt ready for it.

Other days, he wouldn’t talk. Then they’d let him write on his whiteboard, and try not to ask him too complicated questions. These days the team would do things with him that didn’t require talking. Joe and Nicky would sit with him while Joe would draw and Nicky would read out loud to them from whatever book he was reading at the moment. Quynh would spar with him for hours, while Nile would build wooden furniture with him outside. Andy would sit with him by the lake and fish.

But, the more time passed, the better it got. After the day of his outburst, things were slightly awkward and tense between everyone. But he’d started talking again, and after cooling down for a few days, they were able to have a long, long conversation about everything, and where they would go from here. If everyone was a little moist around the eyes, nobody mentioned it.

After a few years, and Booker felt more mentally stable than he’d had in years, he decided to give his relationship with Joe and Nicky another try. They did a ton of research on relationships with multiple partners, and they even went to couples therapy that specified in polyamorous relationships. They learned that they had to build their separate relationships before they focused on building one with all three of them. So they dated him one on one for a while, allowing them to build and establish personal relationships with him before they went out as a thrupple. It wasn’t all perfect, there was still jealousy, and insecurity on all parts, but with time, they made it work.

**********

Booker woke up one morning, twenty years later, as the sun shone into his eyes. He yawned and stretched until he felt the arms around him tightening and he opened his eyes to meet a pair of beautiful green ones.

“Good morning, mon amour.” Nicky smiled and pressed their lips together.

“Good morning to you too, Nicol ò.” He mumbled once the brunette had removed his lips.

“And what about me, huh?” Booker laughed as Joe mumbled sleepily into the back of his neck. It was no secret that the older man hated early mornings with a passion, and would gladly stay in bed until noon whenever he could. Well, now it was past noon, and Booker was starving. His husbands had really worn him out the previous night, the slight soreness in his behind proof of that. He smiled at the memory as Joe’s hands started trailing over his naked hip where he had placed already healed bruises just a few hours ago.

“How could anyone ever forget you, amore mio?” Nicky teased and leaned over Booker’s head to kiss their husband.

“Are you two quite done? I’m starving, and I crave crêpes today.” He interrupted playfully and turned so that he was laying on his back. Nicky and Joe pulled away from each other and looked down at him before looking back at each other with matching mischievous expressions taking over their faces. Booker raised one eyebrow in confusion before realization settled in as the older men started kissing him, Joe claiming his lips as Nicky nibbled on his neck.

“Actually, Basti” Joe started with a smile as he separated their lips to breathe. “We were thinking of giving you something else to eat before breakfast.”

“Oh.” He moaned as Nicky sucked on a particularly sensitive spot above his collarbone. 

“Yes.” The Italian chuckled against his skin, sending shivers down his spine. “Oh, indeed.”

‘You know what’ Booker thought as Joe settled in between his legs and Nicky kneeled next to his head. ‘Breakfast can wait’.


End file.
